


Empty Roads

by Deanon



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Complete, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deanon/pseuds/Deanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck it, Mike thought, there was only so much of their crush twitching and whining on top of them, obviously in the midst of a very interesting dream, that a man could be expected to take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Roads

 On the second night out of their “road trip” (as Mike insisted on calling it and Chuck eventually gave up on arguing), Chuck tried to insist that Mike take the backseat to sleep in.

On one hand, he was right: Mike needed to be fully rested for driving. Chuck couldn’t drive Mutt, which left Mike driving almost 12 hours a day in addition to everything else they had to deal with. For both their sakes, they needed Mike as awake and alert as possible.

But Mike was noble to a fault, and Chuck was several inches too tall for Mutt, bent up awkwardly in the passenger’s seat, too uncomfortable to get any kind of sleep. The bags from the night before lingered under his eyes, half-stress and half-exhaustion.

“Just take it, Mike,” Chuck said, struggling to lean his seat back any further. His knees were still bent at an uncomfortable angle. “So I’ll be a little cramped up tomorrow; it’s not like I need to walk anywhere.”

“Shut up, Chuck,” Mike said, as though that were the end of the issue. After a moment’s deliberation (which was mostly for show), Mike added, “Get back here.”

“Mike – “

“We’ll share it.”

Chuck blinked, but, blessedly, offered neither argument nor comment, just climbed into the back seat and stretched out alongside Mike, quickly turning onto his side when it became obvious that the backseat, spacious as it was, was not going to hold both of them side-by-side. They shifted, adjusted, grumbled about elbows digging into sides and “My head is falling off the seat,” but within a couple minutes they had settled down, back-to-back.

Mike fought the urge to turn around and wrap an arm around Chuck. Instead, he closed his eyes and drank in the warmth of his best friend, pressed against his back.

When Mike drifted back into consciousness, he noticed things in stages.

The first thing he noticed was that he was comfortable. That was pretty rare even when he was sleeping at home, and it slowed his waking as he savored it.

Second was that he was facing Chuck, which was contributing considerably to the comfort. Instead of having his face buried in upholstery as he has when he had fallen asleep, his face was in Chuck’s hair, with Chuck’s breath brushing his ear. His arm was thrown around Chuck’s waist and one of Chuck’s impossibly long legs was over his knees.

The third thing he noticed was that he was hard.

And fourth, about ten seconds after the rest of the realizations, was that Chuck was not sleeping peacefully.

Just as Mike was beginning to relax, happy to pretend that he had never woken up so that he had an excuse to stay wrapped around Chuck like this for a little while longer, Chuck groaned slightly and shifted his head, so that his mouth brushed Mike’s ear.

Arousal shot through Mike, deep and almost frightening in its intensity. His cock pulsed, thick and heavy, driving every other thought out of Mike’s head for a moment except  _oh god, Chuck_.

He’d been frustrated almost constantly for the past 48 hours – prolonged, isolated contact with Chuck did that to him – and he always woke up hard, but this was new. Intense.

He wondered if it had something to do with the stress, with the knowledge that was eating at his brain, the maneuver that he was planning out during these hours-long drives.

(Some small part of him wondered if he was more aware of Chuck than ever because of the knowledge that he might  _actually lose him_  in this next battle, and then he tried not to wonder about that anymore.)

Chuck shifted and groaned again, his hips canting up ever-so-slightly. His breath escaped in a gasp against Mike’s ear, and there was no mistaking the kind of dream that Chuck was having.

Mike took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and keep the arousal at bay, because with Chuck half on top of him like this, he wasn’t going anywhere.

And then Chuck turned his head towards Mike’s on another soft exhale. This brought them close enough to kiss, their foreheads pressed together, their breath’s mingling (and, Mike noticed, both of them breathing slightly harder.) With Chuck’s face so close, the desire to kiss him was completely overwhelming. For a few seconds, Mike could think of nothing else.

And then, with a great force of will, he turned his head away, looking towards the ceiling. This left Chuck’s face buried half in his neck, by his ear again, but there was no help for it.

The downside of this position, Mike found, was that it gave him a decent view of Chuck’s (and his own) body, spread out down the seat and delicious entangled together. He could see how Chuck’s shirt was rumpled; how his hand, flung across Chuck’s waist, was just an inch from the bare skin exposed by the ridden-up hem of this t-shirt.

Now that he was aware of that bare skin, so close and so easy to touch, he could feel the warmth of it in his hand, burning, tempting.

Chuck whimpered against Mike’s ear, and Mike’s cock gave an answering throb, so hard in his post-sleep haze that it was bordering on painful.

 _Fuck it_ , Mike thought, there was only so much of their crush twitching and whining on top of them, obviously in the midst of a very  _interesting_  dream, that a man could be expected to take.

He needed to get out of here before he did something he’d regret.

Disentangling himself from Chuck was a slow and careful process, since he was both very entangled with him, and didn’t want Chuck to wake. It also occasionally meant touching Chuck  _more_ , to rearrange his limbs ever-so-slowly, which bore the temptation to just not _stop_  touching Chuck.

Too quickly and too slowly, Mike found himself disentangled from Chuck and climbing carefully over him to scramble out of the car.

He shut the door quietly behind him and leaned against it, breathing in and out as fast as if he’d just run a race.

The air outside was cool, but not uncomfortable, and unfortunately not cool enough to do much for the heat singing beneath his skin. He was painfully aware that Chuck was still just a few feet away, and still having a wet dream, and that he felt stupidly guilty.

All Mike needed was – a walk around the block. Right. Check the area out, make sure they were safe.Clear his head.

Yeah.

Mike got around a corner, and walked into an alleyway, peering around for any suspicious characters. This far outside Detroit, though, the cities had been abandoned for years; long since looted dry, they were, for all of their large buildings, little more than a wasteland. No gang wanted this for territory, and nobody would be around for miles.

Mike leaned against a cool brick wall and stared up, breathing in the night air. His cock still pulsed between his legs, stubbornly insistent.

Mike counted to ten.

And counted to ten again.

And said  _fuck it_  and unzipped his jeans.

The first touch of his hand on his length had him tilting his head back against the wall, trying to swallow a groan of relief. He wanted this to be quick, and so he let his mind pull out all the stops on his fantasies, resigning himself to the guilt and frustration later. He imagined waking Chuck up in the backseat instead of running away, kissing him like he’d wanted to, turning him in towards Mike and pulling his pants down and holding them both together, jerking them frantically like he was now and hearing Chuck make those same whimpering noises –

He was still a good minute away when he heard a hesitant voice call from just around the corner, “Mike?”

 _Shit,_  Mike thought, and that’s all he had for a second.  _Shit, shit._  His eyes snapped open but, despite his intentions, his hand was still on his cock when Chuck turned the corner and locked eyes with him.

All the blood rushed to Chuck’s face, and probably would have rushed to Mike’s too except it was otherwise occupied.

And then, unbelievably, Chuck leaned against the wall of the alley, a mischievous smile that Mike had only seen a few times before coming onto his face as he said, in a tone that could only be  _flirtatious_ , “You want a hand with that?”

Half a second later, Chuck’s eyes widened and he stammered, “I, um, I’ll just, car, yeah” and dashed back around the corner, leaving Mike to wonder if that had even just happened.

When he wrapped his hand around his cock again, though, he found that he had a lot less than a minute left. He came within seconds, jolting, the whole world going white, that impossible  _You want a hand with that?_  echoing in his ears.

“Look,” Chuck said, when Mike climbed back in the car. “I’m – “

“It happens,” Mike said quickly, and prayed that Chuck had made no connection between whatever dream he’d been having before he woke, and the way that he found Mike in the alleyway just minutes later. “Guys, in close quarters for such a long time – “

“Yeah,” Chuck said, apparently jumping at the explanation. “I mean, of course. It happens. Absolutely.” A beat, and then, “Sorry.”

“Me too,” Mike said, and wasn’t even sure for what.

* * *

The following day passed in a blur of junkyards and bargaining with gang members, acquiring parts from abandoned and less-abandoned cities from everywhere in a 500-mile-radius. An awkward atmosphere tried to linger in the car, but they were both buzzing with a kind of optimistic, nervous energy; Mike because Mike was always optimistic, and Chuck because, though their plan terrified him, he was beginning to believe it just might work. Some of these parts were more advanced, or just completely different from, anything he’d seen before. Kane was rich, but he was arrogant; with outside, underground tech like this, Chuck really could throw some things at him that Kane would never see coming.

It was maybe because of this reckless confidence that, when they finally pulled over to get some sleep before heading back to Motorcity the next day, Chuck climbed into the back seat where Mike was laying down with no invitation. Mike turned, but offered him nothing but a sleepy smile, so Chuck returned the smile, laid down, and, comforted by Mike’s body heat, slipped into sleep within seconds.

When Chuck woke a couple hours later, they were, somehow, facing each other. His nose was pressed uncomfortably into Mike’s jaw, and Mike’s arm was around him, pulling him close, surrounding him with warmth.

Chuck hadn’t yet gotten the pleasure of waking up next to Mike, and he savored it carefully, pulling back to look at Mike’s face –

Only to find Mike’s eyes already open, looking at Chuck, lips slightly parted.

From there (since this was clearly a dream, in no universe would he wake up to a conscious Mike Chilton holding him), it was the most natural thing in the worst to lean up, to slip the hand he had on Mike’s shoulder into his hair, to kiss Mike slow and deep and with feeling.

Mike drew in a deep breath – almost a gasp – and Chuck’s senses came back to him in a horrifying rush.

“Shit,” he said into Mike’s mouth. He pulled back a few inches, and then, his voice raising in pitch with every repetition, “Shit, shit, shit, Mike, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I – “

Mike swallowed the rest of his sentence in another kiss, Chuck almost spitting on him before he managed to put a stop to the flood of words trying to flow out.

As soon as he worked out what was going on, though, Chuck  _melted_  into the kiss. He’d been – wondering, not quite daring to hope, but now this was  _happening_  and he found he had no strength to do anything but let it. They kissed with feeling, a little desperate and messy, all the nervous energy of the day spilling into their actions now and making Mike a little too rough, making Chuck a little frantic.

 Mike deepened the kiss further, sliding his tongue into Chuck’s mouth and stroking his tongue and sending goosebumps all down Chuck’s body; Chuck gasped and pressed forward, the leg that he just noticed he had between Mike’s sliding up, pressing against the undeniable hardness in Mike’s jeans.

Mike broke away in a gasp, pressing his forehead to Chuck’s, bringing a hand up to pull the hair away from Chuck’s eyes and out from between their faces.

“Oh my god,” Chuck said, panting, his hand still stroking Mike’s hair, his thigh pressing slightly into Mike’s groin. “What, what are, Mike, what are we doing, what is going on.”

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Mike answered (except that wasn’t really an answer at all), pressing a simple kiss to Chuck’s lips. Heat rushed through Chuck at that, warming his cheeks and pooling in his groin as his mind struggled with the idea of  _Mike wants me. Has wanted me_.

“Oh,” Chuck said. “I’m. Same. I mean, I feel. The.”

“Chuck,” Mike said, sliding one hand down to the side of Chuck’s face and awkwardly managing to insinuate the other one between them, placing it on Chuck’s stomach. The muscles in Chuck’s stomach jumped under the contact. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Chuck said instantly.

Mike smiled at him. It was the kind of smile that he gave Chuck before he drove Mutt off of a cliff.

It left Chuck breathless. It made his stomach drop in a way that informed him,  _Someday Mike Chilton is going to get you killed, and you are not going to regret it for a second._

Chuck wanted to kiss that smile (had wanted to since the first time Mike said  _Do you trust me?_ ), and he could, this time, so he did.

Mike unzipped his pants.

Chuck wasn’t really sure how it happened – occupied himself with kissing Mike as thoroughly as he could, licking at his lips, learning mostly through experimentation how to make Mike’s hands slow and make his own thoughts fuzzy without getting too much spit involved – but in just a moment Mike had both of their jeans pushed to their thighs. When Mike pulled his own boxers down, the heat and hardness of him, pressed bare against Chuck, was so intense that Chuck nearly came from it right then.

He broke away, gasping, struggling for control as Mike wrapped a hand around the bases of both their cocks and  _squeezed_. That made it better and worse, drove him higher and made it impossible to come, and it only got worse a second later when Mike started to stroke, slow, jerky, the angle just awkward enough to make it unbearably good but  _not quite enough_.

“Mikey,” he babbled, his lips almost against Mike’s, panting. “Mike, god, that feels so good.” He was gone, completely, his mind a fuzz of  _fuck_  and  _Mike_.

“Did you,” Mike gasped against him, jerking once, harder, making Chuck’s hips stutter and jolt. “Did you actually say that? Yesterday?”

It took a second for the reference to connect with Chuck as dazed as he was, but once it did, he groaned. “Oh my god,” Chuck mumbled into Mike’s lips, tightening with embarrassment even with his cock hard in Mike’s hand. “I can’t – believe I said that.”

“It was the hottest thing I’d ever heard,” Mike panted, and it’s totally unfair how coherent he is. “I’d never –  _shit_  – never come harder.”

Chuck panted, looking at Mike’s face, flushed, his eyes clenched shut, clearly completely overwhelmed, and felt the same impulse as had come over him yesterday.

“Well,” Chuck said, feeling the same weird recklessness as came over him when he managed to survive Mike’s insanity.  His lips curled in a smile. “I hope we manage to break that record now.”

Mike cried out, his fist clenching, his cock a searing heat against Chuck’s, pulsing once, twice, three times.

Chuck followed him a second later on a half-laugh, half-sob, every molecule of his body curling around Mike.

They were messy, and sticky, and pushed together in a too-warm backseat, and they still fell into an exhausted sleep, tangled together, deliriously happy.

* * *

Chuck said that Mike got lost; Mike insisted that he was just taking the long way home.

Either way, they ended up stopped, late in the evening, 50 miles outside of Motorcity.

“One more night,” Mike said into a kiss, pulled over at the side of the road. Dusk’s light made everything a little hazy, a little unreal, including this. He’d been trying to talk Chuck into stopping for the last five minutes, not seeming to realize that Chuck did not need convincing. (Maybe Mike was convincing himself.) “One more night like this until we face down Kane. Just,” he stroked Chuck’s hair, kissed him again, long and soft. “Just that much.”

“I think we can do that,” Chuck said, and he didn’t think about the parts in the trunk, about the guns and the defense systems and the viruses he and Dutch would be making come tomorrow, didn’t think about the power those pieces of technology were going to give him, didn’t think about how terrified he was or how sure that not all of them, maybe not any of them, would come out of this in one piece.

He climbed over into Mike’s lap and for the rest of the night, he didn’t think at all.

**Author's Note:**

> (NOTE: Although I didn’t realize it at the time of writing this, parts of this were heavily inspired by “truth or dare” by ashlei, a marauders fanfiction that i read YEARS ago and which was obviously enough to stick with me. The similarities were unintentional, but some of the ideas were definitely hers.)


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